


Co-habitation

by magical_realism27



Category: Glee
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magical_realism27/pseuds/magical_realism27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Quinn living together is bound to cause a few problems. Pure fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Co-habitation

**Author's Note:**

> Very sugary and fluffy. Written on an iPad so sorry for any formatting errors!

1\. Milk

Quinn stuck her grocery list on the fridge before heading to work. It wasn't anything special, just coffee beans, dish soap, almond milk, and a week's worth of frozen pizzas. But Santana's stubbornness and flair for the dramatic sparked a quibble, of course. 

It was 8:46 and Quinn still had sleep in her eyes when she opened her fridge and saw the carton of 2% on the top shelf. 

"Tana!" She yelled into their bedroom, but did not screech, because she's was not a screecher, no matter what her girlfriend said.  
"The hell, Fabray?" Santana sauntered into their kitchen, voice thick. "It's not even nine." She ran her fingers through her silky hair, working a tangle.  
"You got the wrong milk. Again." Quinn's lips formed a grim line and she set her eyes.  
"Oh right. Yeah, that was on purpose." The tail end of her sentence was muffled by a yawn. "I'm gonna go back to bed, and you're welcome to join me, crazy."  
"I can not join you, Santana, because I actually have a job. A job I need the proper nutrients to perform." 

Quinn tied the belt on her flannel robe and crossed her arms. It was always so goddamn freezing in this apartment. 

"Then you should be thanking me. Almond milk is less of a nutrient and more of a depressant." Santana gave a stretch, and Quinn watched her chest rise and fall.  
"How so?"  
"Well, it depresses me to see that hippie crap in my fridge every morning." 

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Morning? Don't flatter yourself."  
"Fine, late afternoon."  
"And, FYI, almond milk is vastly superior to cow's milk. Less fat. And hormones."  
"You sound like a commercial."  
"Maybe if I was actually in a commercial I could afford to not have a roommate." Quinn walked around the kitchen island.  
"True, but you'd have to hire someone to come up here and hold you on lonely, dark nights. Hell of a dent to put in your wallet." Santana reached for Quinn's hands.  
"Good point." Quinn shrugged just before their lips met. 

2\. Sweater

"Babe, have you seen my sweater?" Santana called out, kneeling in front of a heap of discarded clothes. 

"I feel like I have, what with all the detail you put into describing it." Quinn leaned against the doorframe to their bedroom. "You better be planning on cleaning this up." Quinn laughed, sundress flowing around her knees. 

"I think Rachel took it." Santana ignored her, carelessly swinging around a black kitten heel. 

"Which one?" Quinn inquired, striding over to pry the shoe out of Santana's death grip.  
"The navy cowl-neck." Santana sighed, fruitlessly shifting around another pile.  
"The one Kurt got you?" 

Santana nodded. "Yeah, and Rachel Barbara Bitchy stole it! I never should have taught her how to shoplift." She whined. 

"Just wear something different." Quinn suggested, smiling inwardly at her girlfriend's childishness.  
"Oh, I never thought of that!" Santana snapped.  
"Do you need a Midol?"  
"No, I need fooooood." She groaned, burying her face in Quinn's neck. "And we'd be eating right now if I could find that fucking sweater."  
"Or if you could let anything go, ever."  
"Or that."

"How about we order pizza and watch a movie? In sweatpants?" Quinn rubbed Santana's back.  
"You're the perfect woman." Santana gave Quinn's neck a quick kiss.  
"I'll order." Quinn walked out of the room, shutting the door.  
Quinn was searching for the pizzeria's number in the phone book when she heard, "Babe, have you seen my sweatpants?" 

3\. Bubbles

Santana dipped her toes tentatively into her bubble bath, transfixed by the rising steam. It was early afternoon, and Quinn was out on a jog. Before she left, she'd charged Santana with the task of cleaning out the bathroom. Santana'd scrubbed all the crusty black stuff out of the sink before she discovered the bubble bath and became, well, distracted. 

It was perfect, the soft light in the bathroom, her iPod playing some acoustic cover or another, and the bubble bath almost completely masked the stench of hair dye that had taken over the bathroom.  
Almost.  
Santana sunk into the tub, and her muscles screamed in relief. She'd been pushing herself a little too hard in dance class recently, and her tender flesh reflected that.  
"I need a massage." She moaned out, water getting into her mouth.  
"Do you really now?" 

Santana yelped, and thrashed helplessly in the warm water.  
"Jesus, Q, don't sneak up on the naked and vulnerable."  
"But it's just so much fun."  
Quinn was clad in only her fuchsia sports bra and some boy shorts now, sweat shiny in her hair and on her abs.  
"That's my underwear, by the way."  
"That's my bubble bath." Quinn grabbed a comb from the medicine cabinet and started brushing out her ponytail.  
"Well I don't want to be greedy, then. Join me?" Santana's stuck a long leg out the side of the tub.  
"You're dripping water everywhere. And I thought I told you to clean the bathroom. The sink has mildew."  
"The entire apartment is a breeding ground for mold! Don't be such a wet blanket."  
"A wet blanket? Now that's a breeding ground for mold."  
"You're hilarious. Massage me."  
Quinn peeled off her running clothes.  
"As you wish."

4\. Fumes

"Q, it smells like a fucking salon in here!" Santana complained, splayed on the futon, watching a workout video and eating cheese puffs.  
"Pain is beauty!" Quinn singsonged from the bathroom. 

"I like your hair better natural anyway." Santana admitted, flipping through the channels. 

"That makes one of us."  
"It looks way hotter and plus, you won't be putting me at risk of brain damage."  
"Risk of?"  
"Shut up." 

"Don't you wanna be able to tell the guys at work that you're banging a hot blonde?" Quinn reasoned through the door.  
"I'd tell them that regardless." 

Quinn clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes. "I've been dyeing my hair since high school, Tana."  
"Yeah, and if we're doing everything the same as we've done in high school I'd still be sleeping with men."  
Quinn gave a sharp giggle. "Hey, this requires concentration. No jokes."  
"You trying to look prettier than you already do is, in and of itself, a joke." Santana's reasoned, throwing a cheese puff in the air and catching it in her mouth.  
"Aw. But flattery will get you nowhere. I'll be out in an hour, badder and blonder than ever." 

5\. Dinner party

Santana stared in unabashed disbelief as her girlfriend washed the same bag of potatoes for the third consecutive time.  
"They're clean, I'm sure."  
"They look dirty!" Quinn cried in frustration.  
"Potatoes always look dirty, hon."  
"Not this dirty." She said as if that was the end of it. But she finally turned the water off. Santana went back to chopping the cucumbers. 

"What if we end up feeding them rotten potatoes?" Quinn piped up several minutes later. Santana laughed so hard she almost chopped off her pointer finger. 

"They'll probably never talk to us ever again." Santana answered.  
"You're not funny."  
"Complete lies." 

"I just- I need tonight to be a success, alright?" And Quinn went back to peeling potatoes.  
"Why though? It's just our friends."  
"It's our first dinner in our apartment, our first dinner as adults! I don't want to accidentally give them food poisoning or anything."  
"They'll love us regardless. Or we'll kick their asses." Santana set the oven to 350 degrees. 

Quinn seemed satisfied enough with that, and the silence resumed.  
"You know, they all thought we wouldn't last." Quinn reminded Santana as she boiled water.  
"Not all. Brittany knew."  
"Brit doesn't count." Quinn muttered. "But I want to prove the rest wrong."  
"How? By serving them soup and chicken?"  
"By showing them how happy we are."  
"We don't need a stupid 'party' for that. We'll show them we're happy by being happy. And we'll prove them wrong about us lasting by asking them to be godparents to our children." 

"Santana, you romantic!" Quinn squealed.  
"Stop it! And go get the breadcrumbs out of the pantry." 

"But children? As in multiple?"  
"Why not?"  
"Um, did you know me junior year? There's a 'why not'."  
Santana elbowed Quinn in the ribs.  
"Shut up, it'll be different with me."  
Quinn paused, knife in one hand, bag of flour in the other. "Everything is, Tana. And better too."  
"Now who's sappy?" She wondered, but had to turn away from Quinn quickly.


End file.
